


A Trip to Lancre

by Fabrisse



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Patrician is invited to attend the coming of age ceremony for the princess of Lancre.  He sends Sam Vimes instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trip to Lancre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterflysteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysteve/gifts).



> Gileswench betaed, as she did all my Yuletide 2012 stories.

Diplomacy between the Ramtops and Ankh-Morpork was an occasionally fraught affair. Lancre was a tiny kingdom, mostly made up of bits that were too vertical for people who weren’t born there. It was also strategic. The Uberwald was below it (strictly speaking everything except Oi Dong and Cori Celesti was below it), the Copperhead dwarfs were under it, and the trolls were cold enough to know to stay away from people. 

It's strategic value was why Sam Vimes had been informed that the Duke of Ankh’s presence would be required in Lancre. King Verence and Queen Magrat had invited the Patrician to attend their daughter Esmerelda’s coming of age ceremony. Since he had missed their wedding and the child's christening, it was clear someone must officially represent Ankh-Morpork at this ceremony. It was equally clear that it would not be Havelock Vetinari.

Vimes tried to look on the bright side. Young Sam had been thrilled when he’d heard about a new part of the world to explore. It would give him some time with Sybil, and, most importantly, it meant Lord Vetinari wouldn’t be able to send him anywhere _else_ for at least two years. Not being forced to take a vacation would be very restful. 

***  
They were shown to a suite in the Palace. It was more inviting than a cell in the Tanty, but only just. Willikins' hand twitched as if he wanted to dust some of the furniture when a near-sighted seeming man wandered in and said, “Oh, dear, this isn’t the right place at all. I take it you’re the Duke of Ankh, Sir Samuel Vimes?”

Vimes took the proffered hand and shook it politely. “Yes. And you are?”

“The King. Just a moment, Your Grace.” He walked to the landing and yelled, “Sean Ogg!”

A few minutes later a man in slightly bedraggled chain mail came running up to them. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Which tower is this, Sean?” Verence asked.

“Hubwards, sir.”

Verence sighed. “It’s the East Tower, Sean. The one where we stored the fertilizer when one of Queen Magrat’s spells went wrong.”

“Oh. Sorry, sir.” Sean looked at the Vimes party. “Let me take you to your suite, Mister Duke and, er, everyone.”

“Put them on the top floor. There should be plenty of room for their whole party.” Verence nodded at everyone and wandered back out.

They passed several servants struggling with their baggage as Sean Ogg kept a brisk pace to the top of a much wider, and, Vimes was pleased to note, cleaner, tower. 

Sean pointed at various doors and said, “That’s the bathing room. That’s the jakes. The two smaller rooms are for servants, and that’s the solar.” 

Vimes opened the door and saw a large room with cheerful tapestries on three walls and large windows on the fourth; there was a winding stair to roof and young Sam tugged at his father’s sleeve.

He said, “Can we go up after dark and use the telescope?”

Vimes smiled at his son and said, “I’ll consult your mother, but I don’t see why not.”

Sean opened the final door which opened to a small sitting room with two rooms off of it. “Here’s your suite. Sir, are you the real Sir Samuel Vimes? The one who founded the Sammies?”

Vimes would never get used to hearing his name spoken so reverently, but he said, “Yes, I’m commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.”

He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Sean Ogg’s eyes got even bigger. Before he could say anything, a shout was heard down the stairs, and off he ran.

There was a faint tune coming from one of the doors off the sitting room. Sybil opened the door and said, “I haven’t heard that since I was a girl. It’s to keep the sheets from tangling, isn’t it?”

A young female somewhat too old to be called a girl, but definitely not in Vimes' eyes a woman yet, turned to his wife and said, “It is indeed. I suspect it’s just a way to make the work seem lighter, but I find it never hurts to sing it as I make a bed.”

An older woman with a face like a happy apple poked her head in. “Wotcher, Tiff,” she said to the bed making girl. “Magrat said you were making yourself useful, but you really must see to Granny.”

The younger one, who, Vimes suspected, was probably a witch in spite of her pale green dress, peered at the old woman. “No. Queen Magrat made her bed...”

“Magrat Garlick is a wet hen. She meant well, but when she means best is when she goes wrong.”

Sybil interjected. “Perhaps an outside perspective would be helpful?”

Both women turned incisive looks on her, but then they exchanged a glance and nodded. “Granny Weatherwax is, well, if witches had ranks, she’d be the top general,” Tiffany said.

“Mind you, I’d be the next general down the line.”

Sybil looked between them and said, “I think we need to start with introductions. I’m Lady Sybil Vimes. And you are?”

The older woman said, “Nanny Ogg, your ladyship.”

“Even in Ankh-Morpork we’ve heard of your skill as a midwife,” Sybil said gravely. Vimes wasn’t certain how she did it, but his wife seemed to know everyone and the right thing to say to anyone. It was a remarkable gift. She turned to the younger woman, “And you are?”

The young woman stared piercingly at Vimes for a moment. “Commander Vimes and I have already met.”

It was a test, he thought. He racked his brain for a moment and said, “Yes, Miss Aching, you were in protective custody last year.”

“If you lay down potash, once a week, your drain won’t stink so badly. But other than that, I found your cells quite comfortable.”

Sybil smiled and said, “So you, too, are a witch? From around here?”

“No,” Tiffany said. “I mean yes, I am a witch, Tiffany Aching, but I’m from the chalk downs. I came up for old Mother Widowson’s...”

“May she rest in peace,” Nanny said.

“Funeral, and before I headed back received a clacks from Baron Roland that I should represent the barony at Princess Esmerelda’s coming of age ceremony.”

“The Ramtops must be quite different for you then?”

“Yes, milady. No trolls on the downs. There are no gems or metals, so no dwarfs either. Of course we make up for it in Feegles.”

_“Ach, Rob, she’s talking about us?”_

_A deeper voice said, “Daft Wullie, you mind I told you to be quiet as a wee birdie?_

_“Aye.”_

_“That was not quiet.”_

Vimes pretended not to have heard the conversation and said, “One of my coppers has turned out to be a Feegle. He’s a good copper.”

Sybil said, “None of which answers the question as to what the problem is.”

Nanny shrugged. “Witches tend to come in threes, or ones, like Tiff, here.”

_“The Hag o’ the Hills,” said a voice which was abruptly silenced_

“When young Magrat gave up witching for queening, it created some imbalance. And then the invitation to the christening was stolen by a magpie, and now Granny won’t come to the coming of age ceremony because she doesn’t have a nice enough dress,” Nanny Ogg said.

“No,” said Tiffany. “It was that Magrat offered her a new dress to come to the ceremony.” She turned to Sybil and said confidentially, “Witches survive on favors and old clothes. It’s our entire economy. Well, I also have cheeses.”

“So it’s not the fact that a dress was offered, it’s that Queen Magrat seems to be straying from her roots by offering something new?” Sybil seemed thoughtful.

Nanny grinned and said, “That’s about the size of it, your Duchessness. Now me, I’ll wear the blackest of my dresses and put on my red boots for celebrating, and young Tiff here will decide which of her two dresses is cleanest the green or the blue, and we’ll do our part representing witchcraft and a barony. But Granny plans to stay away for not having a dress and for having been insulted by being offered new.”

“I take it a suitable dress would be black?” Sybil asked.

“Yes,” Nanny said.

Sybil exchanged a look with Purity and said, “Have our trunks arrived, Sam?”

Vimes checked the sitting room behind him and said, “Willikins, why don’t you and Young Sam check out the solar with the telescope. Maybe he’ll see Cori Celesti.” He turned back to his wife. “Yes, the trunks are in the sitting room.”

“Well, then." She bustled out past him with the other women trailing behind. "My mother taught me always to have a black dress with me in case there’s a funeral, but I must say, I’ve had this dress,” she opened her trunk and rummaged with Purity’s help until she found a black silk-velvet dress, “since before I married Sam. I’m sure there’s years of wear left in it, but I really must get something more in current fashion.”

Tiffany and Nanny Ogg looked at the dress. Lady Sybil was shorter and wider than Granny Weatherwax, but there was a train, and if the panel at the front was taken out and made into a collar, it could be altered to suit Granny, and her modesty, quite quickly.

Sybil said to them, “Do you know anyone who could use it?”

Nanny grinned until her one tooth showed. “I think I do your ladyship. I think I do.”

Purity said, “Ma’am, I’ve notice that this old dress of mine has become somewhat tight in the, er, frontage, shall we say? I was wondering if some use could be gotten from it by another.” She held up a simple dress in fine, sky-blue wool. There were long trailing sleeves with freshwater pearl buttons, and three more pearl buttons at the neckline. Tiffany was staring at it with some longing, but turned away from temptation.

“Well, Purity, too tight in the frontage can seem quite immodest. You shall have a new dress to suit your current dimensions at Hogswatch.”

Purity said, “Then I shall donate it here, where it might do some good, ma’am.” She folded it up and handed it to a wide-eyed Tiffany.

Sybil whispered to Tiffany, “Did I hear Mrs. Ogg say her shoes were red? And are there any more witches who might need something?”

Tiffany whispered back. “Agnes Nitt will be coming. She has lovely hair. And, yes, Nanny’s best shoes are red.”

Sybil said brightly, “You know, Purity, I have no idea what I was thinking when I packed that snood. I think it’s past the fashion.” Purity pulled out the item and handed it to Nanny Ogg. Lastly, Sybil dug into her trunk and found a bright red shawl woven in Djellibeybi and embroidered Klatchian fashion with black sequins. “I have a sneaking suspicion this color doesn’t really flatter my complexion. Perhaps, you could find this a good home, Mrs. Ogg. It’s quite a warm wool.”

“A good home it shall have. You coming Tiffany?”

“I’ll be down in a moment, Nanny.”

When Nanny could be heard going down the steps, Tiffany said, “A witch pays her debts Lady Sybil. If you or your family ever needs aid or a place to rest away from the city, you may come to me. May I ask you something?”

Sybil nodded and said, “Anything.”

“Did you ever want to be a witch when you were younger?”

Sybil smiled and said, “My parents thought it was foolishness, and by the time I was sent to school in Quirm, I’d quite forgotten the idea.”

“I heard the concert by Tears of the Mushroom. My young man has a friend who works at the Opera House, and we sat up among the lights. A witch finds the place where a little twist can change the world. You are an excellent witch, Lady Sybil.” 

Tiffany nodded to Sir Samuel, “Commander,” and started to leave. 

He said, “I heard your offer to help my family, Miss Aching. Please call me Mister Vimes.”

She smiled at him and then turned back to the room and said, “If there are any Feegles about, they should leave now. You are not to bother the Vimes family.”

_“But they’re under your protection.”_

_“Aye, Daft Wullie, but we’re what she’s protecting them from, ye ken.”_

There was a sound of dozens of little feet running down the steps.

“I’ll see you at the ceremony on Saturday,” Tiffany said, and took her leave.

***  
The Coming of Age Ceremony consisted of a formal recognition of Esmerelda Margaret Note Spelling of Lancre as the Heir to the throne, and her promise in return to serve her people faithfully and well, which, apparently, she would be doing by attending the Quirm School for Young Ladies for the next four years. The ceremony was conducted by Pastor Oates and was followed by a party.

Sir Samuel Vimes had had some relaxing talks with King Verence which guaranteed that Sean Ogg could spend a year on the Ankh-Morpork Watch to learn modern policing, and in return one of Commander Vimes' watchmen would come up and protect Lancre and that skilled crafts sent down to Ankh-Morpork would fetch a good barter on things like modern fertilizers and medicines to be sent back to Lancre.

Young Sam had been talking to Queen Magrat about healing herbs and how to dry, preserve, and distill things, all of which Willikins had agreed to help him do when they got back home.

And Sybil was sitting in the midst of a group of witches laughing at jokes, which considering Nanny Ogg’s demeanor were probably far from clean. Nanny Ogg was wearing the red shawl with her red shoes. He recognized Miss Nitt by the fine hair and the classic snood, and Tiffany stood a little apart in her sky-blue dress looking as fresh as the first crocus of spring.

A woman in black velvet with a pointed hat and a white cat riding her shoulder came and stood beside him. They bowed to each other and Vimes ventured, “I believe you are Mistress Weatherwax about whom I’ve heard so much.”

She looked at him with gimlet eyes, “And you’re the Duke who made peace between dwarves and trolls and turned goblins into real people.”

“I don’t think of it that way. I blunder and ask questions and yell until something happens mostly.”

Granny nodded. “It takes a woman to find the balance sometimes. You are lucky in your wife.”

“I know it,” Vimes said fervently.

“Young Tiffany keeps her word,” Granny said.

“I’m sure she does.”

Granny continued, “She goes to Ankh-Morpork every other month to see her young man who is learning doctoring at the hospital named for your good lady. While she’s there, she works beside him, taking the pain away from those who need it most. She’s good at finding balance, is Tiffany Aching.”

Vimes said, “I understand she also makes fine cheeses?”

“Yes, your commandership.”

“Then I think we can see about transporting a variety of her best cheeses up every other month for our table and the Patrician’s.”

Granny said, “She’ll use the money well, and being able to catch a ride in one direction or the other will guarantee she sleeps occasionally. Thank your lady for me, too.”

They bowed to each other again, and Granny wandered off toward the buffet.

Sybil came up to him grinning. “There’s country dancing out on the square, and there will be fireworks later, Sam.”

Vimes took her hand and said, “I would be honored to dance with my wife.”


End file.
